


The Coffee Cup

by reynabeth



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: Danatole, M/M, Some Swearing, coffee shop AU, for the fic exchange lmao, probably v generic and boring but hey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 11:53:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7617076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reynabeth/pseuds/reynabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anatole Kuragin's car has broken down, he's late for work, and his boss is going to be mad - but hey, the hot coffee guy is offering to give him a lift, so it can't be all bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Coffee Cup

**Author's Note:**

> fuck this is bad but hey i tried my best   
> also what is the summary?????

Ask anyone who knows him, and they'll confirm it's true: Anatole Kuragin is addicted to coffee. Of all the things he could have developed an addiction for, coffee's not the worst, but still, it's a little annoying how he always has to stop on the way to work for a quick coffee, and on the way back, and sometimes in the middle of the day.

And, okay, maybe it's not just the coffee he's addicted to.

See, there's this guy. He works behind the counter at The Coffee Cup, making the drinks and working the machinery, and being an all round badass - and a gorgeous badass, at that. He's got brown hair, several shades lighter than raven but several shades darker than cocoa. And his eyes, oh god, his eyes: Anatole's not quite sure what colour they are, because they seem to change from day to day, but they're set under heavy eyebrows and smooth skin and -

A car horn honks loudly, breaking Anatole from his reverie. Shit. He really should pay attention to the road.

Slamming the steering wheel to the left, Anatole screeches around the roundabout, his car groaning in protest. A truck blares its horn at him, and Anatole swears again.

And then the petrol light starts blinking. 

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Anatole slams his fist on the dashboard, pulling away from the truck and exiting the roundabout. Now he's going to be late for work, and he won't be able to get his coffee - after all the effort he went to, getting up early, and combing his hair properly and even trying to dress nicely, all for nothing. Honestly, why does he even try?

It's raining, just a little, to add to Anatole's misery; his car is so old, his grandparents probably had it before him, and the wipers don't work probably. He switches them on anyway, and watches the twisted plastic wheeze and scrape and the dirty glass of the windscreen. It doesn't help much.

Anatole tries to concentrate - where's the nearest petrol station? His fuel is really low, and if he breaks down, Hélène will never let him hear the end of it - she's always nagging at him to get a new car, and this is just more ammunition for her...

Anatole's train of thought trails off as he realises two things: one, there's no petrol stations around for another half hour, unless he wants to go back to the roundabout; two, he's not far from The Coffee Cup. Maybe some caffeine would calm his nerves.

Settled on this idea, he swings a right, and pulls up into the coffee shop's carpark. Just in time.

The rain is drumming down on the roof of his car, matching his heartbeat. He throws open the car door and jumps out, feet landing smack on the tarmac. 

Is there any point taking an umbrella? He rifles around in the boot of his car but only comes up with a broken Hello Kitty umbrella - so, maybe not.

Instead, he hurries through the rain into the coffee shop, greeted by the soft music playing through the speakers and the comforting smell of coffee and clean floors. At the counter, however, there's no sign of the hot coffee boy; only a dark haired girl, scowling as she tidies the rack of packaged cakes.

"Excuse me," Anatole says, polite as can be, "do you happen to know where the other employee is?"

"Which one?" says the girl, looking up. "More than two people work in this shop, you know."

"Right," stutters Anatole. "Um, the guy with the brown hair and the nice eyes, you know, the ho-" He breaks off, realising he was about to say "the hot one". 

"You mean Dolokhov? Oh, he's sick today." The girl smiles. "I'm Natasha."

"Hi, Natasha." Anatole orders his usual, irritated that the hot guy - Dolokhov - isn't around.

Natasha leaves her number on his cup. Anatole briefly considers mentioning something, but stays silent, tossing the cup in the trash once he's finished.

He's just standing up to leave when he hears a car screech to a halt outside - and he thinks nothing of it, until the door jangles open, and Dolokhov steps in.

"Hey, Dolokhov. I thought you were sick?" Natasha says.

"I'm fine," he says, voice all husky and smooth and dear Lord in Heaven, Anatole is pretty sure he's in love. He sighs dreamily - then starts when both Natasha and Dolokhov turn to look at him.

"Sorry," he mutters. "You carry on, I'll just - fuck." He forgot his car's out of fuel.

"What is it?" Dolokhov asks, turning round.

"Oh, my car - it's run out of gas, and I don't have any way of getting to work." Anatole's finding it very difficult to concentrate with Dolokhov's eyes on him like that.

"Hey, I'll give you a lift," Dolokhov shrugs. "Natasha's covering for me anyway - if that's all right, of course."

"Yeah, sure, go for it," Natasha says, smiling at Anatole out of the corner of her mouth.

"My car's out back. Follow me." Dolokhov gestures towards the carpark, and begins striding out of the door. Anatole has to trot to keep up. (Still, he doesn't mind. The view from behind Dolokhov more than makes up for it.) "Here." Dolokhov stops by a beat-up pickup truck. 

Anatole climbs in the passenger seat, and Dolokhov turns the key. It takes several tries for the ignition to start, but eventually it does. Dolokhov expertly manoeuvres out of the carpark. 

"I'm Fedya. Fedya Dolokhov," Dolokhov says.

"Anatole Kuragin."

"That's a nice name." (All the blood in Anatole's body rushes to his cheeks.)

There's a moment of awkward silence before Anatole breaks it. "Take the next left, and then keep going until you reach the junction."

"Got it." Dolokhov - Fedya - revs the engine, and the truck clatters off down the road.

"So, how come you ended up working in a coffee shop?" Anatole asks curiously.

"I'm ex-army," Dolokhov says. "It's a bit of peace and quiet, for a change."

"Oh." Then, "Right here, then sharp left, and it's just ahead of you."

Fedya pulls the truck up at the kerb. "Thanks for the lift," Anatole mutters, reaching from the door."

"I'd like to do this again sometime," Fedya says, surprising Anatole so much he freezes where he is. "Can I get your number?"

"Sure," Anatole stammers.

Maybe his car breaking down wasn't so bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> please leave comments or kudos you don't know how thirsty i am for validation thanks bye


End file.
